


Tagine

by Lyledebeast



Category: Cloud Atlas (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixsmith comes home to find his dinner missing and Frobisher lounging guiltily on the couch. Domestic tension, resolved in fluff, ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tagine

It is the end of a long Thursday, and Rufus Sixsmith is hungry. He’s only had time for a quick breakfast before his morning lab, after which he rushed to a meeting with his adviser to discuss revisions to his most recent dissertation chapters. That encounter has left him so anxious about the exasperating process of balancing methods with results that he’s eaten lunch over the computer in his office, and spent the last five hours fretting over the two introductions without making any substantial changes to either.

Now, though, en route from the university to his flat, he is heartened by the prospect of what he has waiting for him. For one, there is his … he’s not really sure what to call Robert Frobisher. He’s certainly more than a roommate, but not, Sixsmith reminds himself, a boyfriend, in spite of the fact that they’ve been sleeping together every night since Sixsmith’s second week in the flat. The other item is less complicated: a delicious tagine with chicken thighs, parsnips, and dates that Sixsmith made last weekend. All day, as he’s been writing, his mind has drifted to the stew, with its spicy aroma and luscious flavour; he can’t wait to sit down in front of the TV with a big bowlful.

Upon opening the front door, Sixsmith is surprised to hear not the usual sound of intermittent piano that usually greeted him, but the evening’s news coming from the television. 

He peeks into the living room to see Frobisher lying spread out, looking almost collapsed, on the couch. Just as he resolves to tiptoe into the kitchen to avoid waking Frobisher up, he hears:  
"Sixsmith! You’re back. How was your meeting with Dr. Whatsit?"  
"Oh, please don’t ask me until I’ve eaten. Would you like anything?"  
"Umm. No thanks, I’m not really hungry."  
There’s nothing unusual about this answer; Sixsmith and Frobisher have barely ever eaten together, but there is something odd about the hushed tone of Frobisher’s voice and the way he doesn’t quite look Sixsmith in the eye that has the latter walking towards the kitchen with more than usual haste. He opens the refrigerator door to find an empty space, surrounded by condiments, where the tagine base had been. After a few seconds scanning the kitchen, Sixsmith finds the base in the sink, full of soapy water, next to a bowl full of chicken bones. His stomach clenches, and he feels overwhelmed with disappointment and anger. He walks back into the living room to stand over Frobisher, who is attempting, with some difficulty due to what Sixsmith now sees is a slightly swollen belly, to roll onto his side, facing away from him.

"Did you really eat all the leftovers, Robert?"  
Robert covers his face with his hands and nods, “I’m afraid so, Sixsmith.”  
"Cous cous too?"  
"Mmm hmm," Frobisher replies, turning onto his back and lowering his fingertips to just beneath his eyes, scanning Sixsmith’s face for signs of real aggravation. "I heated that first, and then added the chicken and veg to it. Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?"  
"Yes, but you weren’t supposed to eat all of my dinner in addition to yours."

Frobisher’s eyes flit from Sixsmith’s face to the floor, the walls, the door, as though he’s trying to decide on the best route for escape. When he tries to sit up, though, he grunts at the exertion and lies down again. Sixsmith represses his grin, but barely. Frobisher catches the shift in his stern expression, however, and ventures an apology.  
"Sorry, Sixsmith. I just got so hungry before you got home. Do you hate me?"  
"No"  
"Are you just saying that to catch me off guard so you can smother me with the pillow? It wouldn’t take much effort considering." Frobisher makes a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating his stomach.  
Rufus smiles outright. “No.”  
"You aren’t going to withhold sex, are you?"  
"Honestly, Robert!" Sixsmith replies, rolling his eyes.  
"Come here."

The latter is spoken softly, more as a question than an outright request, but when Frobisher grabs onto the back of the couch to pull himself up, leaving a space behind him, Sixsmith can’t resist sitting down to fill it. With tremendous effort, Frobisher puts his feet on the floor and stands up just enough to lower himself onto Sixsmith’s lap. He lays back against his shoulder and places one of Sixsmith’s long hands on his belly, covering it with one of his own. Sixsmith smiles and gives a gentle pat to the soft spot, at which Frobisher sighs and says, “It really was a delicious stew, Sixsmith. Thank you for making it.”

Sixsmith can guess at what happened. Frobisher stayed up, working on his latest composition, until hours after Sixsmith had gone to bed. He was still asleep when Sixsmith left to teach his morning lab, and probably got up to go to work himself with barely enough time for a shower. Breakfast is not a priority for Frobisher; indeed, no meal really is. At work, listening to his students play piano, most of them hopelessly, he likely thought up a new part for his own piece, and forgot lunch in order to work on incorporating it. He sat at the piano until he could no longer concentrate for lightheadedness and the rumbling in his stomach, and only then did he devour the tagine, the only ready-to-eat dish in the flat before collapsing on the couch.  
At least he had the presence of mind to put the dishes in the sink, Sixsmith thinks to himself. Frobisher can be considerate, when he knows he’s done something wrong.

”At least you won’t need to eat again for a while,” he mutters into Frobisher’s hair. “You’re like a snake, you know that? You eat a quarter of your body weight at a time, and it makes you sluggish for about a day, but you’ll be set until next Tuesday. Did you unhinge your jaw and shovel it all in at once?”  
Frobisher chuckles and begins to stroke each of Sixsmith’s fingers, one at a time. “No, I can just open my mouth very wide, Sixsmith, as you should recall. I’ve never known you to complain about it before.”  
"Well, maybe you can remind me of those skills later. Right now, though, you have to let me up so I can order take-away. Some of us have to eat every day, you know."  
"No, I don’t think so," Frobisher replies, pushing his shoulders back against Sixsmith’s chest. "You’re too comfortable, and I’m sluggish, remember? Maybe I’ll let you up tomorrow."

Sixsmith smiles and leans forward until Frobisher’s soft hair is tickling his forehead, wrapping his free arm around his waist. As the stroking on his fingers slows and Frobisher’s breath deepens, Sixsmith realizes with relief that he will soon be asleep. Fortunately, he is a sound enough sleeper that it will be easy to move without awakening him. Lately, Frobisher has been falling asleep on Sixsmith’s chest in front of the TV, which the latter takes as a sign that he is finally getting used to his presence around the flat, not just in his bedroom. Really, Sixsmith thinks, having to share so much intimate space is even more of departure from the norm for Frobisher than sharing food is for him, and if Frobisher can be so accommodating, so can he.


End file.
